


Never fully dressed without a smile (aka: The Baby Lloyd character study)

by TheLSpacer



Category: Paul shapera - Fandom, Shaperaverse
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baby!Lloyd, Depiction of parental abandonment, Depiction of shitty parenting (I will fight Lloyd's dad), Gen, brief mentions of violence n blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLSpacer/pseuds/TheLSpacer
Summary: “Just try it! Smile for me.” His mother demonstrated, lips pulling into a grin, her grin, the one with dimples and squinty eyes that made the overcast day seem brighter.He answered with an upward twitch of his mouth, shaky at first, but like magic, his tears had slowed, and the pain lessened just a bit.And Lloyd smiled.Or,Hmmm…ever wonder why/how baby Lloyd stays so darn chipper all the time?
Relationships: Lloyd Allen & Asha
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Never fully dressed without a smile (aka: The Baby Lloyd character study)

**Author's Note:**

> There's been so many good baby Lloyd angst fics lately, I decided to add one of my own to the pile! Hope you enjoy/I'm… sorry?

“Can you smile for me?” His mother asked, crouched so she could meet his eyes.

It’s all a foggy memory now, and he can no longer remember what had happened all those years ago to make toddler-him fall flat on the gravel, scrapes running up and down his legs.

But he does remember the tears, hot and wet down his cheeks, his face scrunched up because it had all hurt _so much_.

And most of all, he remembers his mother, soft and warm with her dark, curly hair and strong hands wrapped securely around his shoulders. A lifeline. An oasis.

He hadn’t stopped crying, then, even letting out a sob of disbelief upon hearing her request. He stung all over, and she was asking him to _smile_.

“I- I _can’t_!”

“Oh _mijo_ , you’re such a brave boy for bearing with the pain.” She wiped his tears with a handkerchief. “Stay strong just a little more, and we’ll get you all fixed up at home, right as rain.”

He had thought, _but that’s later_.

As if she could read his mind, his mother said, “I know it hurts now, and it’s okay to cry it out when it gets too much, but sometimes a smile helps the pain to go away.”

A dubious look.

“Just try it! Smile for me.” She demonstrated, lips pulling into a grin _her_ grin, the one with dimples and squinty eyes that made the overcast day seem brighter.

He answered with an upward twitch of his mouth, shaky at first, but like magic, his tears had slowed, and the pain lessened just a bit. 

And Lloyd smiled.

* * *

His mother left a few years later.

She stood in the doorway of his room the day of her departure, Lloyd glancing up from where he was annotating a book on the Blitzkrieg strategy, to see her clad in her travelling coat, packed bags at her side. She had gone to him, hugged him and cried, apologies spilling from her mouth, wishes that she could take him along with her.

He hadn’t known, not back then, that she was leaving for good. He only hugged her back, breathing in her perfume and relishing the feeling of her arms around him once more. His lifeline. Then, he reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Mothe- mamá,” he had said in a wavering voice, close to tears himself at the sight of her weeping face. “Smile for me?”

Through wet eyes, his mother complied, lighting up the room one last time. Finally, she kissed her son’s forehead, and left, closing the door behind her with a _click_.

* * *

When Lloyd’s tears began anew over breakfast, his father furrowed his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a little thing that had brought it on; the sight of their dining table with just two lonely places set at opposite ends, yet another reminder of the absence that loomed over both their heads.

His tears weren’t the heaving sobs of the days prior, the blank, uncomfortable looks he would get from his father every time he had to witness _that_ unpleasantness just made Lloyd all the more determined to control them, clamp them down. Instead, he had forced his breathing to even, had attempted to school his trembling face into a neutral expression, tears pooling silently down his cheeks.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Father. Please excuse me.”

A grunt of acknowledgement, a stiff nod, and he was off, running to the bathroom to clean himself up. He mopped at his eyes, his nose, all the while trying to keep his breathing under control. _In, out. In, out_.

He had stared at himself in the mirror, even his reflection being enough to remind him of her. His high cheekbones and regal nose all belonged to his father, yes, but his dark, lidded eyes, brown skin and thick eyebrows; those were all her.

And so he tried to smile like how he remembered her smiling. Broad and joyful, just like she did right before she…

_No. Best not dwell on that._

The smile wasn’t perfect, all things considered. It showed off his crooked teeth, and betrayed how he only had one dimple, not two, not to mention his eyes that were still red-rimmed.

Yet, it was something, and as he grinned at himself in the mirror, it almost felt as if Mamá had never left.

He returned from the bathroom to an impatient father, already halfway through his meal. No matter. Lloyd had simply beamed, and asked brightly about how dinner was coming along.

* * *

In the Academy, he’s known as the ‘upbeat one’, the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed ex-chess prodigy, behind whose guileless grin is a sharp and ruthless intellect he uses to destroy his opponents. 

Even in the most boring of chess matches, him having long ago decided he’s _just no longer interested_ in the game, he would sit patiently across his opponent, chin in hand, bouncing a leg up and down, beaming idly at a random point over his adversary's shoulder as he proceeds to utterly decimate them on the tournament floor.

What his peers don’t know (and don’t _need_ to know) is that his father had stopped writing letters to him a long time ago, that the last time he had even seen the professor was when he had permanently moved out of the family home and into an apartment close to school, his own departure marked by a perfunctory smile and stiff handshake with the man who had ‘raised’ him all those long, lonely years.

But none of that matters, not anymore. Now, he has the theatre, he has Matt, and sure, there are bumpy days, when the troupe would be relentlessly off their game, when setbacks and venue cancellations and budget cuts would pile up and up and up.

During these rainy days, Lloyd would simply take a moment to himself. Breathe in, out, arm himself with a smile and an encouraging pep talk, and re-emerge, ready to face the challenges ahead.

After all, one was never fully dressed without a smile.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Even when the death cult comes.

* * *

_Breathe. In. Out. Smile. Smile. You’re never fully dressed without a smile—_

— is the mantra he repeats in his head, over and over, through his pounding heart and his shaking hands.

He faces waves of attackers with his trademark grin and his sabres at the ready. He doesn’t exactly remember when a smile stopped becoming his way of honouring his mother, instead turning into a reflex, a defence mechanism against panic and despair. 

No matter, no matter. A smile takes the pain away, after all, and God does he need something to take away the pain. 

He dispatches his assailants, washes blood from his hands, cleans and wraps his cuts, his bruises and gashes, humming to himself all the while.

And when he finds out about what they did to Matt, a strange sense of calm settles over him. No time to cry now, he could save that nonsense for once he had done what he needed to do.

He stares at himself in the mirror, like his younger self had all those years ago. He looks at the bags under his dull eyes, his sallow complexion and hollow cheeks. He can barely remember his mother’s face, now.

He pushes down the tears.

He grins a rictus grin, and laughs.

_Allow me to retort._

And then, he does.

* * *

“You don’t need to fake it, you know.”

He startles out of his stupor. “I’m sorry?”

Him and Asha are up late again, poring over old journals and grimoires, when the nomad-turned-Posthuman speaks up first. 

“You don’t need to fake it. I know you’re as tired as I am.” She rubs at her eyes and makes to close her notebook. “We can go sleep and continue this tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not!” He protests in a panic, reaching out a hand to stop Asha from getting up. “The night’s still young, and sure, we’ve had some setbacks and frustrations, but we’re close to a breakthrough. I can feel it!”

He shoots a grin at her, but falters at the serious expression on her face. 

“Lloyd, it’s 2 in the morning. You can barely keep your eyes open and _I’m_ barely making headway with these books. We both need a break. You don’t need to grin and bear it.”

“I…But… “ He stammers, mind whirling, "But I _have_ to! My mother always said that a smile makes everything better.”

His breath hitches. He didn’t mean to mention her, but in his fatigued state, it had slipped out. No matter. In a moment, he has his breathing under control again.

Seeing the look on his face, Asha sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Your mother’s got a point, but.” She pretends not to notice how he almost flinches away. “But sometimes it’s okay to just be tired. Be frustrated and disappointed and sad. You can’t expect yourself to be happy all the time, it’s not fair to yourself.”

Lloyd sags.

“I suppose you’re right, Asha. You’re always right. I am tired. Sometimes I think that if I stopped smiling, stopped being,” he gestures vaguely at himself, “happy, I would just-”

His voice catches, but at his friend’s concerned gaze, he forces himself to continue, _sotto voce_.

“- I would just fall apart.”

“Oh, Lloyd.”

She wraps her arms around him, and something about the way he fits against her brings back memories he thought he had forgotten. Memories of sunlight and joy, _true_ joy, memories of _her_.

Tears spill down his cheeks, and his chest is aching and his arms are trembling, but he supposes that’s okay.

He clings to Asha. A lifeline. An oasis.

Neither of them let go for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I tried ending this happily so I hope it wasn't too depressing! Lmk what u think :DDD


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